


“Is this Stockholm syndrome James?"

by Slenderlof



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Minor Character Death, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlof/pseuds/Slenderlof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stockholm Syndrome: ' A psychological phenomenon in which hostages have positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them.'</p><p>Lima Syndrome: 'A psychological phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy and positive feelings for their hostage.'</p><p>Civilian James as a hostage - what could possibly go wrong for Percival?</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Is this Stockholm syndrome James?"

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my beta readers (eirishu/epicfac3101) on tumblr for helping me make this so much better than the trash I first drafted, I owe you two!
> 
> Also, side note: This was not intended to romanticise murder, kidnapping, Stockholm or Lima syndrome - all of those are very serious matters and not something to be glorified. Likewise, i have no real experience with these, so although they are a deep seeded fascination to me and have been for years as topics, they aren't written from a victim's POV.

Percival sauntered into the room, blade in one leather glove clad hand and a smug smirk plastered across his face as he looked at his victims, tied to their chairs and terrified. Apart from James who was just staring back at Percival with a almost morbid curiosity, along with something else burning behind his eyes that Percival couldn't quite place yet. The blonde girl was fidgeting in her seat, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

 

_Poor little girl._

 

The other guy, Arnold, was crying quietly, sobbing and hiccuping each breath, coughing a little in between. It was actually pathetic. Percival had no time of day for snivelling wrecks like those two idiots. They were just so _boring._ Blade dancing around his fingers, twirling as the cool metal span around and around with a dizzying effect, Percival looked upon his three captives,his lips a tight line as his disinterest increased.

 

“I'm awfully bored, any volunteers to entertain me?” He asked, looking between them all as he dragged out each syllable, voice clear and slow like he had all the time in the world . The girl, Amelia or something, kept her mouth shut and eyes trained on the floor like it was a safety net, heart rate no doubt picking up further as she strained and struggled against ties on the wrists bound behind her . It was nice to find someone with a little fire in them, the will to at least give escaping a shot. Hers would be a fruitless attempt, the room was sealed and Percival was armed after all. Nevertheless , he appreciated the effort she was going to.

 

Next to her, Arnold was a sobbing mess, pleading for his life again and again. It was fucking annoying and wouldn't do him any good, if anything it pissed Percival off even more. That was always a bad idea.

 

“Shut up,” Percival muttered almost too softly, fixing an empty gaze on Arnold, face reflecting no emotion – just a displeased expression. Arnold, who quite clearly had no sense when it came to self preservation began to cry even loader, his panic getting the better of him . Percival sighed pointedly and looked over at the final captor James, pleasantly surprised to see James staring him dead on, raising an eyebrow as their gazes met. _Cocky little shit._

 

 

 

Percival started on James, pointing a slender finger at him. “Eeny,” he turned to the girl and pointed at her. “Meeny.” he pointed at the guy, realising as he did that, oh shit, it was going to land on James. He wasn't sure why, but Percival really didn't want to kill James. _Why on earth not? Where was that feeling coming from?_ Pointing at Arnold, he said “Miny.” and frowned, lowering his hand and taking a step towards him anyway. “You.”

 

Percival stalked forwards, ignoring James and the blonde in favour of approaching Arnold, grabbing his hair tight and wrenching his head backwards, knife settling against Arnold's Adam's apple, blade digging in with each breath he took. A bead of blood blossomed at the very tip of the knife, welling against stubbly skin before starting it's slow roll down the writhing man's neck.

 

“You are _really_ pissing me off.” Percival breathed lowly into the man's ear, breath tickling the hairs on his neck. If it wasn't for the knife shoved mercilessly against the man's throat, the whisper could even have been misinterpreted as something unashamedly intimate, such as between lovers. Percival moved the knife an inch to start to push down slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure to start a trickling stream of blood. It ran down Arnold's neck in a near perfect straight line, pooling at his collarbone and welling in the dip before overflowing down the sides. Arnold began screaming in earnest, begging for help; to be spared; for mercy. The woman turned her face away, head shoved into her shoulder and eyes screwed shut at the disturbing scene she found herself in: trying to block out the screaming and blood.

 

James on the other hand was watching – almost as if this whole thing was entertaining him. Eyes glinting in the dingy cellar light like a little kid opening presents on Christmas day. As Percival saw him shift in his chair slightly, he wondered for a brief second if James was was actually feeling something other than entertainment. Something far more...well far more erotic. It certainly looked that way.

 

Percival entertained the thought for a moment or two, imagining how James must be feeling if he really was becoming aroused by such a gruesome scene. Maybe he was disgusted with himself for it, felt like clawing at his skin and having bile rising in his throat for how he was reacting, but somehow Percival didn't think so. If James really was getting sexual enjoyment out of this, he assumed the other would be relishing it. Treasuring the rare chance to indulge that and knowing it was completely real.

 

That thought shouldn't please him at all, _fucking hell Percival, get a grip of yourself!_ He twisted the knife a little and dragged it sharply across the man's throat, hard enough to draw blood but not to severe anything vital – not yet anyway. Instant deaths always ruined the fun.

 

The thick red blood poured out of the cut, running along creamy white neck and being absorbed into a long since greyed and frayed shirt as it hit Arnold's collar. It was art, a masterpiece even. Percival grinned wildly like a animal, teeth flashing, a canine before it attacked. He splayed one leather-clad hand over Arnold's pink little mouth, forcing it shut and blocking out the screaming and desperate gasps for breath he was making as he fought to stay alive. Pathetic. Faintly over the noise, Percival heard something that sounded almost like a slightly muffled groan from behind him, but his attention was too absorbed in the blood streaming freely to pay much attention to the sound.

 

He dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter that resounded off the neatly tiled floor and walls as a speck of vivid red splattered across the ground directly at Percival's feet. His hand left the other man's hair to instead curl gently around Arnold's neck, before gloved fingers began to press against the wound with harsh intensity. He forced his fingers into the cut, burrowing through flesh and vein to curl around and pulling abruptly, letting skin tear and blood fly through the air.

 

It was almost erotic – almost - the crimson red running down Percival's arm and dripping onto the floor in tiny droplets, the chocked gasps from the man all he could hear. Deliberately, each movement thought about with immense concentration, Percival hooked a finger around Arnold's vocal cords from the inside and yanked hard, tearing and pulling it out with a sickening squelch. Blood ran freely and a small amount sprayed off of the wound, clinging to the bottom of Percival's jaw. He let the stringy, red coated chunks of flesh hang loose, wiping a gloved hand down the corpse's face, leaving a smear of blood across his cheek. In death, there was at last silence from the brat in front of Percival. Percival's head tilted back as he gasped for his own breath quietly, enjoying his moment of bliss as he came down from his high.

 

As his pulse slowed back to a more steady pace, Percival heard a familiar voice from behind him, sounding a little strained; a little heated and uncomfortable. A little aroused.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” James muttered under his breath, eyes fixated not on the body which Percival was crouching down next to, but on the murderer himself, in all his blood and sweat coated glory. James pupils were blown and large, eyes locked onto Percival's and watching his every movement like a hungry hawk.

 

Percival frowned and picked his knife back up from the floor, wiping the blade and his hands on the dead man's shirt, attempting to get rid of the blood staining it a deep crimson. He gave up quickly, stalking over to James and grabbing his throat tightly. Red fingers squeezed hard, staining the pale white skin as he gripped, pushing him back in his chair so hard James' feet left the floor. Percival held him there by the tight grip on his neck, white knuckles against quickly flushing skin.

 

“Jesus Christ what?” Percival hissed into James ear, bending over the other man so their knees touched, lips barely brushing against his ear lobe. James let out a tiny little whimper in the back of his throat, only just loud enough for Percival to hear him.

 

“Jesus Christ you, that was fucking erotic.” James responded, voice far too low for Amelia to actually hear. His lips touched Percival's ear slightly as he spoke like this was a completely normal, everyday situation for the two of them to be in. Percival smirked slightly, only a teeny upturn of his lips, but it was definitely there none the less.

 

James was about to smirk right back at him when there was a sharp bite to his ear, not enough to actually bite through it, but enough to draw a few drops of blood. They welled at the surface of the wound, mixing with saliva. _Why on earth did he even do that?_ It just felt natural, he wasn't fucking Hannibal Lecter though, so he had no idea what it was that made him do that. James groaned, pressing his body up ever so slightly even though there was nowhere for it to actually go. Well that gave Percival an answer to his unasked question. He was obviously right about how James felt then, specifically how he felt about Percival himself.

 

Percival pulled back, straightening himself up and dragging two fingers roughly down James' cheek, leaving a slowly darkening trail of blood down it and leading off right next to his mouth, pink lips meeting scarlet liquid. James just looked up at Percival for a moment with large eyes before the killer turned away, going back to his table with his back to both the victims left in the room. He was radiating confidence and cockiness in such a simple movement.

 

“Time to move you two, I've got some newbies I want you to meet.” Percival smirked smugly to himself again and turned back around, cutting the cable ties keeping James leg's tied to the chair and making a vague up gesture. James was always first, he hadn't tried anything yet, and Percival was getting more and more sure he wouldn't with each day that passed them by. It wasn't trust, he had to remind himself, not trust. Just...expectations from prior experiences. Nothing more and nothing less.

 

Checking James' hands were secured behind his back, Percival let his hand linger a moment longer than was strictly necessary before turning to Amelia to cut her leg's ties too. She complied just as well, albeit shakily rising to her feet as he cut the bonds and – _oh bloody buggering shit._

 

She lashed out as Percival stood, pulling her hands from behind her back, having somehow managed to snap the zip ties since he last checked. _Dammit Percival, check the hands first. Always check the hands first!_  
  


Her hand fisted a handful of his shirt, pushing Percival backwards against a wall as the other punched him around the face with as much force as she could muster – which was a hell of a lot considering the condition she was in physically. Percival stumbled slightly, knife dropping out of his hand and clattering on the floor once again as his head smacked sharply on the wall behind him. _Bloody buggering shit_. He should've been paying more attention to her.

 

Amelia grabbed at the knife while Percival was still trying to regain his balance, turning to James, who obediently offered up the back of his hands for her to cut the ties off. Percival felt a stab of betrayal somewhere deep his stomach. He didn't trust James, of course he didn't, but he felt...he felt like he had, it was a new feeling to Percival, a new concept.

 

He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could, making a move to lunge at her. He'd kill them both for this, fuck his other plans. He wanted her dead and in little pieces. He barely made it a wobbly step towards her before Amelia launched herself right back at him, knife in her hand and arm raised as she did so, cutting down in a surprisingly trained swoosh intended to kill. Percival just managed to dodge the blade in time, heart rate actually picking up a little as he realised there was a large possibility he was really going to die. It did feel rather fitting though, to die at the hands of those he was planning to kill. Almost poetic really.

 

Suddenly James grabbed her arms from behind, wrestling them behind Amelia's back and holding on for dear life, looking at Percival as he tried to keep the squirming woman in a vice-tight grip. Percival seized the opportunity, snatching up the knife from the floor and going at her. A singular, harsh dashing motion across her neck spraying blood all across his face and shirt, catching James too. Crimson red sprayed across James' cheek and jaw, and fuck if that wasn't hot, Percival had no idea what actually was.

 

James dropped the body, letting Amelia's now dead weight fall to the floor with a dull thud, his eyes trained on Percival's. They held each other's gaze for a moment in complete silence – excluding the heavy breaths of course. They were coming down form a high neither had ever experienced before. In James' case, it was the act of being part of the killing that caused his high, and for Percival it was doing it with assistance that made it unlike anything else he'd experienced in his life.

 

Percival was in a small state of shock at what James had just done. He wasn't meant to do that, that wasn't how it worked! James, oblivious to the others inner turmoil, wiped a singular finger across his cheek, smearing some of the blood and collecting a small amount on the tip of his finger. In a very deliberate movement, James popped his finger in his mouth and sucked gently, his cheeks hollowing a little and defining his jawline as he sucked. While he was doing that, he kept his eyes locked on Percival's.

 

The knife fell to the floor once more as Percival watched, not sure what the fuck to do. What was he meant to do? His head told him kill James before he could do anything else, his heart told him to stop and let James go, his body told him something entirely different to both of those options. James looked at Percival for a second, tilting is head to the side before muttering, barely audible. “Please don't kill me.”

 

With that James moved forwards, pushing Percival hard up against the cold tile wall. Body to body, chest to chest, crowding him in against the wall. Percival didn't even try to fight it, head still wrapped up in some profound state of shock at the scenario he found himself in. He was always in control, always manipulating every factor and twisting people's lives, the destroyer and the creator in the same movement; but now, this wasn't his own creation, he had no power over the situation. No control, not even over his own body's reaction, mind a individual entity to his body. He was vaguely aware of his hands being pulled upwards, wrists pinned to the wall above his head in a firm yet not threatening grip.

 

Percival gasped slightly as his back hit the wall, letting it turn into some sort of moan as James pressed forwards. James could kill him right now, but Percival couldn't really bring himself to care about that. He was far too entranced by James getting into his personal space, letting out a small breath that tickled against Percival's own lips, the only sound other than his frantically beating heart in the entire room. Or at least, the only one Percival could hear over the pounding from deep in his chest.

 

James took a deep breath, preparing himself for something and tightening his grip around Percival's wrists to a point of pain, tight enough to no doubt leave beautiful purple bruises blooming across them in the coming days. Percival's hands were practically limp, no protesting force to oppose James, no being shoved back or spat on, no fight – it was like the fight itself had simply left Percival the moment his back touched the wall. Or, more likely, the moment lips were pressed against his harshly.

 

James tilted his head to the left a little, lips pressing against Percival's hard, not holding anything back. This might be his only shot, his first and last kiss with Percival for all James knew, so he was going to make damn sure it was worth the risk he'd taken to get it. James opened his mouth a little, making Percival do the same with his action. James could taste blood in their mouths, along with the weak tell tale of cigarettes from Percival dancing around in their mouths.

 

Percival kissed back as good as he got, groaning into the kiss and letting his eyes slip shut at the sensation, loosing himself in the pure feeling of James. James pressed forwards instantly, causing another groan to escape from Percival's mouth, the sound disappearing into their passionate kiss as tongues entwined. He couldn't really get any closer at this point, their bodies flush against each other and then the wall, but that didn't stop James from trying.

 

James pulled back an inch, struggling to regain his breath, blood tinged saliva still clinging to both of their mouths as they pulled apart. Percival was breathing just as hard, breath mixing as both men panted into the silence and tried to calm their hearts. Jesus.

 

“What...The...Fuck...” Percival muttered, making a vain attempt to pull his hands down, although James wasn't ready to let him just yet, so he gave up trying fast; eyes staring wide and blown at James in shock. “Was that!” People didn't do that to Percival, people didn't get close to him, they didn't give a flying fuck about him. They never had, that's what started this whole thing off. What set his path as a adult, as a killer even, into motion. And here James was, smashing that into pieces and stomping it into the ground like it didn't matter.

 

James didn't respond with words, instead relying on his actions to make his point – they both knew what that was, there was no point asking stupid questions like this. He pushed flush against Percival again, slipping a leg between his and pushing upwards lightly, reclaiming Percival's lips once more.

 

Percival kissed back, biting on James' bottom lip and making a actual effort to pull his hands away, wrenching them from James' grip and grabbing the side of his arms. Spinning them around so he could pin James against the wall instead, Percival took complete control of the situation. He let his hands go down to hold James' waist, cold, blood splattered gloves sneaking up the back of James shirt and earning a gasp. James' arms went to Percival's shoulders, clawing at the back of his shirt, trying to gain some sort of traction against the smooth black fabric.

 

Percival pulled his face back, flushed and glaring at James – _he wasn't meant to do this, this wasn't meant to happe_ n. He was fucking with Percival's plans – but the other couldn't really bring himself to really care. But then, if this was really going to be a thing, it was on Percival's terms.

 

“Is this Stockholm syndrome James? My my...” Percival raised a eyebrow, not moving away as he spoke, his exhale ghosting across James' lips. It was a valid point, and quite possibly the answer to the entire situation. A strange case of Stockholm syndrome meets Lima syndrome from the same people at the same time. But then, maybe it wasn't – he'd been rather attached to James since the start, when he told people there was no hope for them to escape and sat back like he planned on enjoying the ride anyway, no matter where it may lead for him.

 

“I doubt it,” James responded, head back against the wall and face beyond flushed. “I've felt this way since the start. There's something about you, how...how free you are, it's been fascinating since the start. Helped by your attractiveness, I do rather think I'm in love.”

 

Percival cracked a small grin at the admittance, nipping roughly at the side of James' jaw. “And how in love is in love James?” Percival asked quietly, voice holding his usual confidence again, but remaining almost like a whisper.

 

“I believe you mentioned having some new lambs for slaughter?” Was all James responded with, both of their smiles turning more sadistic at the same time. “I was wondering if you wanted a little help with the brats.”

 

Percival moved to whisper in James' ear again like earlier, breathing out in a way that made James' back arch and skin erupt into goosebumps. “Maybe I do, but first...” He bit James ear again, pulling it between his teeth for a moment before letting go. “I think I need to show you just how much I own you.”

 

James shivered again, more violently than the first time, turning his head to kiss Percival almost hard enough to bruise his lips. “Please do.”

 


End file.
